


The Mark Has Been Made

by Ravenspear



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: kissbingo, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-02
Updated: 2011-02-02
Packaged: 2017-10-15 07:50:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/158675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenspear/pseuds/Ravenspear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jo tries to forget what she's become. Meg doesn't help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mark Has Been Made

It's another day, another new meatsuit, another out of the way motel, another bed paid for with money that's not really hers.

Jo sits curled up in the dark, and breathes.

She has to focus these days, to draw breath when she isn't talking. Somewhere along the line, strapped to a rack, she forgot that breath meant something other than just a prelude to screaming or pleading. And she still keeps forgetting, even back topside. After all, it's not like she'll die _again_ without it.

But she needs to keep breathing. Needs it to remember what it is to be human. Needs it so that she'll still _be_ human, at least a little bit.

Because she _needs_ to be human. Needs it desperately, like she'd needed respite from the pain of Hell against her soul, like she'd needed to grab the razor from Meg's deft hands and carve _back_ , carve at anything that wasn't herself.

She needs to forget about what she's become, and remember what she used to be.

And it's _hard_.

It's hard, because she's warm all the time, too warm; her shredded soul not used to the warmth of living flesh, of sunlight, of anything that isn't the cold blue flames of Hell.

Because she has no heart anymore, only a cold, awful pain like hopelessness and small, sharp teeth where it should be.

Because the pain makes her want to lash out, hurt others the way she's been hurt; want to show all those blissfully ignorant, _whole_ people what Hell is like, what it's like to be torn apart again and again and again until you can't remember what it's like _not_ to scream.

Because there is a girl in the back of her head, shrill and panicked and crying; suffering as the cold, dark thing that is Jo drowns her soul in sharp-edged agony.

And it's hard, because no matter how Jo tries to be human, Meg always find her to remind her that she's _not_ anymore.

" _Really_ now, kittypie," Meg purrs, a sudden dip in the mattress right there next to her, breath cool against Jo's too-hot borrowed skin. "Are you going to keep this up for long? Because I've got to tell you, this denial shtick of yours is getting pretty old."

Jo sighs, closes her eyes as Meg laughs against her cheek. "I'm not like you," she breathes, wraps her arms tighter around her legs.

"That's not what it looked like when you were carving up those other souls oh so pretty," Meg says, hand cool and soft as it tucks a stray lock of hair behind Jo's ear. "Mmm, I like this girl you're wearing. Looks very sweet," she murmurs, presses a kiss against Jo's neck. "Is she? Sweet?"

"Shut _up_ ," Jo hisses, eyes flashing open as pushes Meg away with all the strength her twisted soul can muster, flings her to the floor.

Her victory is short-lived, though, because in the next second, Meg is back at her side, and despite her hardened bone, Jo is sure her jaw breaks when Meg backhands her, sends her flat down on her back.

"I won't shut up, angelcakes," Meg croons as she crawls across Jo's prone body. "And I'll never leave you alone. I _made_ you. And I don’t like that you keep running around, trying to _not_ be what I made you. So I’ll keep reminding you until you finally remember who you belong to.”

And it is really hard to forget what she is, what she has become, when Meg presses cold, lovely kisses all across her borrowed skin, when she can’t find it in herself to resist, instead just greedily accepting what she is given, sighing and moaning as Meg shows her a hundred ways to dull the pain where her heart should be, to rejoice in the shape Meg carved her into on a rack in Hell.

And it is really hard to forget, after, when the skin she wears is covered in hundreds of dark little bruises, memories of Meg's mouth and teeth and tempting promises.

Jo stares at her reflection in the bathroom mirror and hates herself.

She's wearing someone else within the hour.


End file.
